Timer
by mintbanana
Summary: It was enough, for us. For now. The epilogue to 'Countdown' Complete.
1. Tick, Tick, Tick

_Disclaimer: Nope, do not own.  
__Well, this actually just popped into my head of its own volition after I re-read '_Countdown_' a little while ago. So I went ahead and wrote it out. Think of it as a sort of epilogue to_ _'_Countdown_'. Well, I'm done rambling, so please, enjoy and leave a review if you feel so inclined._

**Tick, Tick, Tick…**

She looks far too different when she's sleeping. When she's lying there like that, with her hair all sticking up and out at odd angles against the pillow and her mouth open just a tiny bit so that I can hear her breathing perfectly and without that look that always seems to tell me _stay away_, she's a different person. When she's lying there, I can't see Buttercup.

I can't see anything I can hate.

There's always been something about her; ever since the first day we met. Something that called out, practically screamed out to me. She was always so fierce, so unafraid to throw everything she had at the enemy and keep on throwing it even when there was nothing left in her to give. Fighting her was a chance to cut loose; to really lay into something. The injuries, the bruises, the cuts and scrapes and broken bones all hurt like hell, but, as sick as it is, I never wanted anything else.

Or at least, that's what I thought.

As we got older, the fights stopped being enough. The exhaustion after every battle didn't stop me from feeling restless. I was still frustrated, still angry all the time. I hit her harder and faster, but I still didn't get any peace. I needed something else, but I had no idea what, until that one day…

She fought hard, as hard as she'd ever fought. We were both tired and bloody and barely able to move and yet there she was, still standing there on her shaky legs and cursing at me like a sailor and in that one instant I looked at her and I saw it.

I saw the thing that I needed.

I could see it was burning her like it was me. The single, primal urge burning her up from the inside out. So I flew at her, hit her again, knocked her down. And then it began. I started playing with her. A twisted cat and mouse game that I could see was throwing her little world into as much chaos as mine. But for me, it wasn't a game; I was as caught up in it as she was.

And then, that one night, I lost control. We both did. We pawed and clawed and attacked each other, desperately seeking a solution. And we found one, of sorts. Since then, nothing has changed. I come here too often now, and the game begins all over again, every time.

But then she falls asleep, and everything changes.

So here I am again, staring down at a girl who no one else gets to see. I watch her shift in her sleep, and the newest mark I've left on her comes into view, standing out vividly on her collar bone. It's evidence of what I did to her. I'm never gentle; never caring. What we do has no feeling behind it, it is simply necessary. Or at least, that is our reasoning. She stirs again, and murmurs something into her pillow. I try not to listen, but I know what she's saying. The same thing she says every night. The same name, over and over and over. I always leave then. I can't listen to that voice. It is not her voice; it is someone else's. Someone I don't know. Or ever want to know.

I didn't see her again for two weeks after that night. And when I did see her again, everything changed.


	2. Boom

_A/N: This brings us to the end of the whole _'Countdown'_ storyline. If you've made it this far, thank you very much for reading it all, and I sincerely hope you've enjoyed it. Have a good one folks._

…**Boom**

It was raining when I saw it.

Normally, it would have been something to take advantage of; a new weakness to exploit, but not this time. When I touched down on her windowsill, she was sitting on the bed, facing the window, not lying under the covers with her back to it like normal; pretending to be asleep in the vain hope that I would leave her be this one time. No, she sat waiting for me, dressed in a little tank top and shorts; the same ones, I realised, that she had worn on that first night.

And then, in that dim orange light that I was so used to now, I saw something else. I saw it reflected on her cheeks.

Tears.

It was something I had never seen from her. Something I had never expected to see from her, but there they were. Silently spilling down her cheeks from eyes that were still the same angry, defiant shards of green ice that could have chilled anyone else to the bone. Anyone but me. But the tears… The tears shook me, no matter how well I hid it from her.

"You came back," she murmured, her voice just audible. I shrugged one shoulder and let my mouth curl upwards at the corner.

"I always do, don't I?" I saw her hands curl into fists, her fingers gripping the bedcovers tightly.

"I thought you had left. Two weeks, and you didn't come back. I thought… I thought it was over."

"It's never over sweetheart," I said smoothly, gliding over to her, masking the uneasiness caused by the tears. "You need this just as much as I do…" I leant in to push her back onto the bed, and she let herself fall back, the tears still falling slowly from her eyes.

"I don't…" She choked on the words that I knew she would say. The same ones she always said. _I don't love you_, _I don't want this_. But this time, she tripped on the words, and I found myself pausing. She looked up at me for a second, then closed her eyes and turned her face away.

"I don't care anymore. I… I'm tired. Just do it. Do it and get it over with." I stared at her for a long moment, stunned by what she had said. This was… unnatural. This was Buttercup, but it couldn't be Buttercup because what she had just said… It meant that she had given up.

And that's when everything fell into place.

"No." I pulled away from her sharply, standing up and walking away from the bed. She opened her eyes and sat up, her expression confused, but still pale and weak looking. This wasn't who I wanted. Who I _needed_.

"I can't do this."

"What do you mean?" I whirled on her sharply, marching back over and seizing her by the shoulders. I could see her flash back to that first night, could see the resignation in her gaze. But that wasn't what this was about now. Not anymore.

I wanted to say something. To explain. But the words wouldn't come, not from me. So instead, I kissed her. But this was different from any other time. This time, I didn't force my way into her mouth, didn't press myself onto her, didn't sink my teeth into her lip just to feel the soft skin yield. This time, I was slow, gentle. This time when I tangled my hand into her hair, I wasn't rough with it. And this time when I pulled away, I put my hand against her cheek and wiped away some of her tears with my thumb. She looked at me with those big green eyes, equal parts scared, confused and suspicious, but I still didn't say anything. Instead, I kissed the corner of her mouth and worked my way over her cheek to her neck and down, lowering her back onto the bed as gently as I could manage. I peppered her skin with small, gentle kisses, never biting, never putting too much pressure on any one spot. She sighed involuntarily under these feather-light ministrations, and I gently worked my over her collarbone to the neckline of her top, my fingers teasing the strap already hanging off one shoulder. And I was gentle, so gentle, never hurting her.

Her tears had dried by the time she fell asleep, and as I pulled the covers over her, she gave a small sigh; not quite contentment, but something like reassurance. I sat with her and watched her sleep, the same as I did every night, but this time when she muttered my name, I stayed to listen.

Things had changed. Both of us had realised that we needed more than a simple outlet for our energy. I had left for those two weeks because I had needed to get away; hammer my body into total exhaustion somewhere outside city limits. She had cried because of feelings that had no place with her, but had nowhere else to go. So that night, without speaking, without explaining anything, I had given those feelings a place to go, just as she had drawn that excess power from me into herself.

And at that final moment, where normally she would have turned herself away from me, she had looked at me, really _looked_ at me, and whispered _I don't hate you_.

Which was enough, for us. For now.

_-end-_


End file.
